I watched as Harry held the car door open for me, a gesture so simple yet brimming with a kind of old-world charm I hadn't expected from him. The city light flickered against the glossy black paint of the car, reflecting the night's energy.
We were heading to one of the most exclusive restaurants in New York – an establishment known for its discretion and where the rich and powerful dined away from prying eyes. Reservations at the restaurants take almost a year since they're always full all year round so I was surprised when Harry made a few calls and got us a table.
"How did you do it?" I asked staring at him curiously "Once we ate there and we had to book six months before,".
